


Baby Take Me Down

by BulletproofFurniture



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hunter!Hanzo, M/M, Werewolf AU, Werewolf!Jesse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-07 11:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7713544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulletproofFurniture/pseuds/BulletproofFurniture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo, a successful werewolf hunter, cannot complete a hunt for the first time in ten years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the shitty summary, im laid up sick in bed. this will be my first chaptered fic, so wish me luck! ill add more tags and characters as they come. mchanzo is endgame.
> 
> also, i may or may not have dragged my teen wolf lore into my overwatch fic. sorry not sorry.

Tracking a wounded beast through a forest is never difficult. They tend to be clumsier, their blood makes a clear path through the green. Though they heal faster than humans, Hanzo has never lost a beast’s trail, has never had an incomplete hunt in his life - not even his first, at age fourteen.

Fortunately for Hanzo, this one doesn't seem to be healing at all; the blood spattered across tree roots and leaves on the ground only gets thicker and blacker as he follows the meandering trail. It's slowing down, Hanzo notes with pride. Coating his arrows with wolfsbane seems to have been more effective than he originally guessed. His father will be proud.

When the trail ends, it's at the edge of a large clearing. Hanzo stays at the fringes and observes. A large form shakes and writhes, spreading black on the leaves beneath it, letting out little whimpers and whines of pain. Silently, Hanzo nocks another arrow and draws his bow; as soon as he has a clear shot to the creature’s heart, it will be dead.

But then the creature begins to shrink, howls turning into the agonized cry of a man. Hanzo has never seen this before; usually, these monster wolves fight to the death in their pelts. This one seizes on the ground, a stump of an arm bracing against the ground, his single hand clawing at his side where Hanzo’s wolfsbane arrow had pierced his side, and broken off against a tree. It curses and cries out in English, confused and dying. Hanzo can't help but move a little closer into the clearing to get a better view.

But as soon as he takes a step, the beast freezes and stares at where Hanzo is standing. It glances at his bow and startles into motion, cursing more, and loudly, and struggling to pull himself away. “You gotta be fuckin’ _kidding me_ ,” it grouses, words slurred. “Can't fuckin’ believe there are hunters in fuckin’ _rural Japan_. I'm gonna _die_ because I wanted a _fuckin’_ vacation away from all the American hunters, and I get my ass shot with wolfsbane by a _fuckin’ Japanese hunter_!”

Hanzo is stunned by it’s foul language, and also by the hideous black veins spidering out from the wound left by the arrowhead in its side. “The wolfsbane did that?” he asks softly, amazed. It looks painful, agonizing, and the werewolf groans in exasperation.

“Not only is he a hunter, he's a Goddamn fuckin’ newbie,” it complains, pale and sweaty, but glaring viciously at Hanzo. “Can't believe I got my ass taken down by an _amateur_.”

 _That_ gets a reaction from him. “Excuse me?” he scoffs, offended. “I am _not_ an amateur. I've been hunting down monsters like you for _ten years_ -”

It cuts him off with a snort. “And I'm sure Mommy and Daddy are so proud that their _experienced baby_ don't know shit about wolfsbane,” it sneers, black veins slowly creeping up its neck. It coughs then, a disgusting, hacking thing, and then leans to the side and spits up a mouthful of black. Hanzo steps back, disgusted.

“We do not _have_ wolfsbane in Japan, you moron,” Hanzo snaps, anger waning just a little. The beast is panting now, shaking as if fevered. Where its skin isn't black, it's white as snow. Hanzo thinks he probably doesn't have more than an hour to live, and for the first time in his life, he feels guilty.

That perks the monster up a little. “Really?” Hanzo nods in confirmation. “D’you have a sprig on you, maybe?”

Hanzo nods again, and he doesn't know why he does it, but he pulls it out of his pocket and places it in the monster’s outstretched hand. It places the plant on its thigh absently and shifts one of its fingers into a claw. Hanzo doesn't watch as it fishes the jagged arrowhead out of its side; it’s too gruesome to look.

When the arrowhead is out and discarded, lethal and covered in black sludge, the beast pulls a lighter out of a pocket of its shorts - stretchy gym shorts, Hanzo notices, probably the best for when he shifts - and sets the sprig on fire. On its _leg_.

“Hey,” Hanzo protests loudly, but other than a grimace of pain, it doesn't react to the flame or to Hanzo. When the wolfsbane is down to ashes, the monster scoops it up carefully, bares its teeth in pained anticipation, and presses the ashes into its open wound.

Hanzo jumps at the loud roar it lets out, and scrambles forward when it starts to shake and seize against the ground. “Stop, stop,” he yells desperately, trying to pull its hand away from its wound. But the wolf keeps it there, superhuman strength winning even in its weakened state, until the wolf is unconscious.

Hanzo immediately checks its pulse, and then its wound. It’s still alive, and the wound is healing, black veins receding. The color is returning to its face. He sighs in relief, and immediately frowns. _Relief_? It's supposed to be dead! He's supposed to have killed it! Instead he's let it heal itself _right in front of him_ of a poison Hanzo _specifically_ got to kill werewolves!

Hanzo groans and lets his head fall into his hands. _Stupid_ , he berates himself. _Father is going to have your head_.

Eventually, he pushes himself to his feet with a sigh and lifts the wolf onto his back. The weight is staggering, but Hanzo has no choice here. He carries it carefully through the path they made to get to the clearing and puts it in the bed of his truck. As he drives home, he tries to figure out some lie to report to his father to cover the truth of his first failed kill.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know much about japanese dinners, so i tried to keep it simple. also, dont expect this kind of update schedule from me every time - i work two jobs, and today happened to be my off day. yall got lucky!

It’s a few more hours until it wakes up, and in the meantime, Hanzo has had a small meltdown; calmed himself down; freaked out again and almost shot the werewolf where it was sleeping on his couch; and then calmed down again and cooked dinner for the both of them.

He didn’t know what he was doing. What was he doing? He _saved a werewolf’s life_. He could have let the wolfsbane take its course. He could have beheaded it in the bed of his truck. He could have done _anything besides what he had done_ , which was to take it home and lay it on his couch and _make dinner for it._

His father never has to know. Hanzo will just tell him he’d completed the kill and buried the ashes, as he always does. The wolfsbane did nothing more than slow the wolf down, definitely not worth trying to import more. And the werewolf could go back to whatever part of the states it was from. Everything would be fine. It would be _fine._

But then it wakes up, looking much better than it did when it was almost _dead_ , and swears. Again. “Where the _fuck_ am I now?” it demands, sitting up and almost falling over when it tries to put weight on an arm that isn’t there. Interesting; it must have some sort of prosthesis somewhere.

“You’re in my home,” Hanzo informs him archly, taking two plates to the table. He’s too tired to make anything fancier than omurice, and hopes the werewolf doesn’t mind.

Then he remembers he’s serving a werewolf, and decides he doesn’t care if it minds or not.

It’s quiet for a bit, and Hanzo takes a seat and takes his chopsticks. “What is that?” it eventually asks warily.

“Dinner. It’s omurice.” Duh.

It shakes it’s head. “Well, no shit,” it says. “But why’d you make two plates?”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow at him. It. Raises an eyebrow at _it_. “I thought you might be hungry. There’s some left in the pan if you want more.”

Hanzo eats, and the wolf watches. After a few heartbeats, it stands up and walks to the table, sits. It stares at its plate. “Is it poisoned?” it asks hesitantly, and is cowed by Hanzo’s offended glare. It picks up its chopsticks, mumbles a heavily accented, “Itadakimasu,” and begins to eat slowly.

It’s a quiet dinner, with a thick silence Hanzo doesn’t intend to break. “I don’t have anymore wolfsbane.” _Damn it._

“Huh?” The werewolf looks up, startled.

Hanzo clears his throat. “Wolfsbane,” he says again. “I don’t have anymore. I used it on you, then you used it on yourself. It was a test run. I can’t poison you without wolfsbane.”

“Oh.” It perks up at that, and digs in with a little more enthusiasm. Hanzo sips his water and is quiet.

After dinner, Hanzo cleans up - _without_ the werewolf’s help, because cleaning with one arm means broken dishes and Hanzo likes his dishware, thank you very much. It has nothing at all to do with the fact that he’s a guest in his home. He’s a werewolf, not a guest. It. Damn it, _it’s_ a werewolf, not a person, _definitely_ not a guest, imposing in his home.

It sits on the couch quietly and observes. “Why didn’t you just kill me?” it asks eventually, breaking the peaceful quiet.

“I tried to,” Hanzo counters, placing a clean dish in the dish drainer.

“I mean after that,” the beast clarifies. “When I was unconscious, or while I was burning the wolfsbane. Coulda killed me at any moment.”

And isn’t that the million dollar question? Hanzo can feel it’s eyes burning into the back of his neck, waiting for an answer that Hanzo doesn’t have. “I don’t know,” he says eventually, honestly. “I don’t.”

They don’t speak anymore after that. Hanzo gives him a blanket to sleep with on the couch, shows him the bathroom, and they go to bed.

When Hanzo wakes up in the morning, the wolf is gone, blankets neatly folded.

Hanzo assures himself it’s for the best.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /blows a loud and continuous raspberry
> 
> im sick this week. let me know if i made any mistakes that i didnt notice!
> 
> also, im super terrible at replying to comments - but i read all of them and love each of you dearly. please keep reading, and enjoy the story!

Tracking a wounded beast through a forest is never difficult. Hanzo knows that. And the monster hunting him knows that, too.

He tries desperately to keep his steps clean, to keep the blood from smearing over the trees and leaves that surround him, but his vision’s getting spotty, his fingers going numb. He’s panicking, just a little (just a lot). He’s sweating, but he feels like he's never been colder in his life. He's sure he's leaving tracks a mile wide for this predator, and he's not even sure what it _is_.

It was supposed to be a routine kill. Another week, another wolf. But he'd shot it, just a lump in the dark, and it had brushed off the bolt like it was nothing more than a twig. Had stood, taller and taller, until it was two times his height. Hit him with some kind of weapon - all Hanzo could think was run, run, run.

And now he's dying, hunted in the woods like he's nothing more than an animal. He supposes he deserves it; when he finally trips and can't get up, all he can do is sigh, resigned to his fate.

He struggles to roll over to get a look at his hunter, and his eyes go wide at the deep red skin. _An oni_ , he realizes in horror. Every hunter knows better than to try and take one alone. But where is his target? Where is the wolf? Did the oni kill that, too?

It doesn't matter. The oni crouches over him, chuckles sounding like rocks grating together, and Hanzo closes his eyes, because nothing matters. He is going to die. He prays it to be swift.

The world around him flips and turns, leaves him a little nauseated, and he feels it rushing around him like water. He cracks his eyes open and sees dark fur, startles when he realizes he feels it against his cheek. The oni roars behind him, and Hanzo looks around and wishes he hadn't; the trees are whipping past, and whatever meager meal Hanzo had decided to be his last fights its way up his throat. He buries his face in the brown fur and tries to hold his consciousness.

His last thought before passing out is that dying is the worst, and he doesn't recommend it to anyone.

*

He's understandably confused when he wakes up from being dead.

He tries to sit up, dreadfully confused, only to groan and sink back down to the blankets beneath him when pain erupts all over his body and the world shimmers and swirls around him. Still suffering from his wounds and from blood loss, then. He closes his eyes and tries to think, and finds his mind foggy.

There was an assignment. Another werewolf. But when he went...it had been an oni. The werewolf in the description - black, large, missing an eye - was nowhere to be found. Dead? Did the oni get it?

Does it even matter? Hanzo isn't dead, but he certainly doesn't know where he is. He cracks his eyes open a little bit, and sees green light. No, not green light...sunlight, filtering through the forest canopy. He's laying on some rough blankets. The air is hot - midday, then. He’s been out upwards of twelve hours, then. He lets his head flop to the side, and sees some wood stacked for a fire, with a beat up metal pot next to it, and a bundle of clothes cast to the side.

Not his clothes. Then whose…?

At that moment, a large, brown, _familiar_ werewolf with only one arm bursts into the clearing. “Ah,” he says stupidly. He can feel his heartbeat flutter high in his chest, adrenaline and fear, but this time he can't get away.

“Hey, hey, hey,” it protests, shifting quickly back into human. “Don't be scared. Not gonna kill you after I just saved you. That would be stupid. I leave you alone for one damn week, and look at the trouble you get into,” it mumbles under its breath. It has two dead chickens in its hand, waving them around when it gestures as if it's forgotten it has them. The sight is so surreal, and Hanzo doesn't know what to say.

So he starts off simple. “Where are we?” he asks, ignoring the chickens, ignoring his wounds, ignoring last night.

“We’re in the woods,” it answers, going over to its pile of clothes. It redresses quickly, a thin tee shirt over its jogging shorts, a prosthetic arm that attaches with a couple of clicks.

Hanzo watches the fingers wiggle absently for a moment, before asking, “Why?”

The wolf sits to begin plucking the chickens, and answers with a snort. “Couldn't just drag you back to my room at the inn, could I? I'd get too many questions. ‘Where are your clothes, why is that guy all bloody, why are you suddenly covered in fur and sharp teeth,’” he lists matter-of-factly. “I ain’t no stranger to roughing it. Went back to my room after I got you settled to get some stuff to cook with. Stole the chickens from a farmer, though,” it adds as an afterthought. Hanzo doesn't even know where to begin with all of that.

“How did you find me?” he wonders, changing the subject. It had been so dark last night, and he'd been so lost.

“I could smell your fear for miles,” it says with a laugh. Hanzo didn't know wolves could smell _that_ well. “I knew it was you, figured I should help. When I saw what was chasin’ you, figured we should run.” That doesn't make sense. Why would a beast help a hunter?

He lets himself get a good look at the wolf, a luxury he didn't allow himself when it was healing in his home. It's brown hair is long enough to hang around his temples and get in his eyes. It has a short, shaggy beard that it scratches its fingers through occasionally. It's eyes are brown, and Hanzo knows when it shifts, they'll be gold.

“You could have let me die,” Hanzo says quietly. The wolf hums in agreement. “Why didn't you? There could be one less hunter in the world right now.”

“That woulda been a pretty shitty thing to do,” he says with a shrug. No, _it_. Hanzo sighs. _He_. “‘Specially when you didn't just let me die. Coulda been one less werewolf in the world, and ain't no one woulda blamed you. But you didn't. So I didn't.”

He's finished plucking the chickens, has skinned them and gutted them. He places the livers aside. _Good for iron, for anemia_ , Hanzo remembers, and wonders if the wolf caught them just for him. “What's your name?” he finally asks, feeling foolish that it took him this long.

“Jesse McCree,” he answers readily. “From New Mexico, North America. You?”

“Shimada Hanzo, from the Shimada hunting family in Hanamura,” he replies.

Jesse’s lips curl in a grin. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You, too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who got ridiculously painful joint inflammation as they were finishing up this chapter??? i did!
> 
> jesus, im so sorry these chapters are so short.

Jesse McCree makes Hanzo stay in the forest for two days. Two. Full. Days. He feeds Hanzo chicken liver and cleans the wounds on his arm and makes him drink a nauseating amount of water and makes him stay sitting or laying until Hanzo feels like he’s going to _scream_. At the end of day two, their small fire is flickering and the sun has set, and Hanzo demands to be taken home. “You know where it is,” he reminds the wolf. “And since you have my scent, you could follow the trail if you don’t remember. But I am done with this forest; you can coddle me in my home if this is really necessary.”

Jesse, of course, relents. He packs up camp the next morning, makes sure the fire is well doused, and slings his pack across his broad shoulders. Hanzo insists on walking, which Jesse objects to, but Hanzo _refuses_ to be carried. Until he almost faints an hour in, and Jesse picks him up and ignores his protests. Hanzo sulks, and tries not to be impressed that Jesse can carry him _and_ their camp supplies effortlessly. He’s not even _sweating_. It’s entirely unfair.

The whole time, Jesse keeps up a steady stream of conversation that Hanzo only pretends he isn’t paying attention to. He marvels over how close Hanzo lives to the forest, muses that it’s probably easier for hunting that way. He compares the forests of Hanamura to the forests in America, and then the differences of the forests _across_ America. He mentions he smelled some smoke in the forest while he was hunting for his own dinner that first night after the oni, but he hadn’t been able to tell if it was wood smoke or something else; he’d been too far away.

But as Jesse walks, Hanzo is able to smell the smoke on his own. As they proceed, it gets stronger and stronger, until Jesse says a soft “Oh no,” and breaks into a run. Hanzo doesn’t understand, not until they’re standing in front of the blackened remains of his small house.

There’s nothing left. It’s been burned to the foundations, everything inside reduced to rubble. Hanzo’s glad, a little, that Jesse’s holding him; he might have fallen from shock if he’d been standing, because everything he owns is _gone_. All of his clothing, all of his supplies, the blanket his mother quilted for him when he was younger; gone.

Jesse is silent. Hanzo appreciates it. He might stab him if he offers any platitudes. “Put me down,” he murmurs. Jesse complies. Hanzo limps to the tree line and drops to his knees and begins to dig.

Because he’s not an idiot. Part of being a hunter is an inherent paranoia; one must be prepared for _any_ eventuality. He clears the dirt away to reveal a wooden box, one Hanzo has had buried there since he moved in. Inside is a duffle bag full of cash, a spare set of arrows, a bow, and a handgun. He doesn’t need the bow, still has the one from the oni’s attack, but he supposes it can’t hurt to have two.

He stows the gear in the bag with the cash and slings it over his shoulder. He’s pale and shaking a little as he stands, and Jesse picks him up with ease. “D’you know who did this?” he asks quietly, walking away from the house.

“I think so,” Hanzo replies. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to consider it. “I need a little more proof, but I am mostly sure of who did this.”

Jesse walks for a few hours. Hanzo can guess where they’re headed, but he doesn’t ask to make sure. He doesn’t feel much like saying anything, and naps for much of the trip. But when they arrive at the inn where Jesse’s been staying, he wakes Hanzo gently and sets him on his feet. They walk into the inn where Jesse greets the front desk lady, and Hanzo stands to the side.

He isn’t at all surprised when he sees yesterday’s local newspaper abandoned on a low coffee table, headline blazing in bold hiragana: “Final Shimada Heir Found Dead In Remote House Fire.” An old picture of him, cropped so it shows only his chest and face, sits just under the headline.

He takes the paper and pockets it, and follows Jesse quietly to his room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a roller coaster
> 
> i dunno man, just. i dunno. my back hurts, my hand hurts, and this just. kind of came out.

When Jesse closes the door to his room behind himself, Hanzo watches as he carefully locks it behind himself. Jesse does a circuit around the room, briefly checking his belongings next to the door and the single window across from the bed. He does this all automatically, instinctively, circling the small room and ascertaining that no one has intruded on his temporary territory. Satisfied with what he finds, Jesse settles on the end of the bed in the center of the room. “You were on the cover of the paper,” he says. Hanzo doesn’t comment on the abruptness of the topic, or how he wishes he didn’t have to speak about this. He only nods. “Why?”

“Because my family has killed me,” he answers bluntly, laying the newspaper out on a small table near the foot of the bed. The headline stares him down, but Hanzo only gazes at the picture. The day it had been taken had been a good one; a family reunion at Hanamura, a familiar arm around his neck, it’s owner cropped out of the image. Out of his life.

Jesse’s voice interrupts his thoughts, hesitant and confused. “But...you’re not dead?” he says. “You’re literally right here in front of me. I’ve been nursin’ you back to health for the past two days, I think I’d know if you were _dead_.”

“They sent me to the oni on purpose,” Hanzo clarifies. “They must have figured out somehow that I didn’t succeed in your hunt.” He had been stupid to assume they wouldn’t have his house bugged, especially after what had happened with Genji. He’d been careless. “They sent me to the oni to die, and then made it look like I had died in my house in a fire that no one saw until it was too late, corpse mutilated beyond recognition by the flames.” He scoffs. “It was probably just another werewolf,” he adds bitterly.

“Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions, here?” Jesse asks, concern pulling his eyebrows into a low vee. “I thought you said you had an assignment when you went out there. What if the oni got them, too? What if there was an electrical fire in your house? There are so many things that could have happened, aren’t you being paranoid?”

“And _you_ are being naive,” Hanzo snaps, immediately regretting it when Jesse’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, anger deflating as quickly as it had come. “But I have no room to be so optimistic. There is no other explanation, especially with the body planted in my home and ‘correctly’ identified as my own,” he adds, gesturing uselessly to the newspaper.

He sits on the bed next to Jesse, weary, feeling aged. “Besides,” he says tiredly. “It is the exact same thing they did to my younger brother.”

The air between them is silent for a few heartbeats, until Jesse breaks it with an enraged, “What?!” Hanzo can only nod sadly.

“He was very vocal about what he thought of the family committing what he called ‘genocide’,” he explains. “He would outright refuse to hunt. It got to the point where he was sabotaging other members’ hunts, by either warning the wolf beforehand, or by setting up small snares and traps to confuse the hunters. Eventually, our father had him killed.”

Jesse is silent, and Hanzo lets him have the time to mull it over. “But what if it wasn’t a set up? What if he just...died?” he asks eventually, seeming reluctant to even bring it up.

“You seem very set on defending a family of murderers,” Hanzo points out, amused, but before Jesse can protest, he continues. “My brother was a very careful driver,” he states, gazing at the newspaper across the room. “Very competent, very cautious. He liked to speed, but he wasn’t stupid. I’d ridden with him many times in his silly, flashy sports car. It makes no sense that he would get drunk and cause a head-on collision with another driver, who got away unscathed.” Hanzo looks at Jesse, straight in the eyes. “I had been with Genji that night. And he hadn’t been drunk when he left me.”

Hanzo stands with a sigh, leaving Jesse on the bed behind him, reeling from this new information. “I must go bathe,” he says, looking at his grimy hands with disgust. “I will be careful in my weak state, and call you if I need to.” Jesse just nods, and Hanzo goes to the ensuite.

It’s only five minutes later that Jesse is bursting into the restroom, Hanzo naked and testing the water from the showerhead in his hands. Hanzo’s face immediately pinks, but before he can yell, Jesse interrupts. “Genji? Genji Shimada?” he asks, looking frantic, uncaring of Hanzo’s nudity.

“...Yes?” Hanzo finally answers, bewildered and flustered.

“He’s not dead!” Jesse yells, grin breaking out across his face. “He’s a werewolf!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooOOOAAAAAaahhh. told you it was a rollercoaster.
> 
> also, im sorry the chapters are so short all the time. im so used to writing short one shots and vignettes that im completely unused to writing the saga-like chapters im used to reading by other people. lo siento, amigos. :(


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took me a ridiculously long time to bang out, especially considering it is one of the shortest.

Silence rings through the bathroom for a few heart-stopping moments. Genji? _Alive_? Hanzo hardly knows how to process this information, and in its scramble to understand, his mind does what it can to handle the situation - it notices his nudity, and drags all of Hanzo’s attention to it. Immediately he flushes, and fumbles to shut off the water. “Would you _please_ close the damn door?” he grits, wrapping a towel around his waist. “We can talk about this when I am _out_.”

“Huh? Oh,” Jesse says, as if he’s just now noticing that Hanzo is naked. Even still, he looks completely unfazed; Hanzo doesn’t know whether to be relieved or offended. “Yeah, okay. Holler if you need me.”

He leaves and closes the door behind himself, and Hanzo is left with a mix of emotions he isn’t sure he wants to analyze. He settles on the simplest - what the hell does ‘holler’ mean?

He showers quickly and efficiently, focusing on his hygiene and not the impending conversation, until he’s clean, dressed, and staring at the door to the room, anxiety mounting in his chest. Slowly and with trepidation, he opens the door and steps through, only to find Jesse snoring loudly, sitting up against the headboard on the bed.

Hanzo, who has been trying not to worry about this talk while Jesse was relaxed enough to _sleep_ , slaps his shoulder in irritation and barks, “Wake up!” Jesse wakes with a snort, sitting up and blinking in confusion, until his gaze settles on Hanzo.

“Oh,” he says, relaxing back into his ungraceful slouch. “‘S just you.”

Which of course only serves to irritate Hanzo more. “Yes, just me,” he says sarcastically. “Coming out of the restroom for an _important conversation_ about my brother who, apparently, _isn’t dead_?”

Jesse just blinks. “Ah,” he says stupidly. “Right. Sorry, I ain’t been sleepin’ too much these past few days, what with makin’ sure you were okay.” He rubs the back of his neck and offers a sheepish grin.

“What?” Hanzo asks, startled. “You haven’t been sleeping?”

“Well, not a whole lot,” he says with a shrug. “I’m not too good at hearin’ if something comes into my territory when I’m sleeping, so I mostly tried to stay awake. Had to make sure that oni didn’t come back for you.” He shrugs again, awkwardly, under Hanzo’s bewildered stare.

Questions upon questions. “How well can you hear?” Why did you care that much? Hanzo shakes himself. “That doesn’t matter right now. Genji. He’s alive?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jesse says with a bright grin. “He’s a good kid. Met him on the forums online a year or so ago, when I was lookin’ to travel. He - ”

“Wait,” Hanzo interrupts. “Travel forums? Online? For _werewolves_?”

“I know, it seems a bit silly,” Jesse concedes. “But it’s the safest way to plan vacations without infringing on other packs’ territories, and without startling unsuspecting hunters. We have a code for how we talk on there, so no one knows we’re werewolves. Genji’s a moderator, helped me plan for coming here. Didn’t tell me there were hunters, though,” he finishes under his breath, grumpy.

Hanzo’s head is spinning. It _does_ seem ridiculous, but also stupidly plausible. Hanzo sits on the edge of the bed, dizzy from more than just his healing wound. “Have you...have you met him? Is he okay?”

Jesse looks at him and his gaze softens. “Yeah, he looks like he’s doin’ okay. He’s really scarred up, which is weird, because usually werewolf healing will take care of that. But he seems happy.”

“Could we see him?” Hanzo asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Jesse grins. “I’ll text his buddies, let him know we’re coming. But first, we should sleep.” Hanzo looks outside, confused; it’s still daylight, there’s no need to sleep. But he feels his eyelids drooping anyway. Jesse notices his confusion and snorts, settling back onto the pillows. “You’re still healing and I haven’t gotten enough sleep lately. We’re gonna nap, _then_ we’re gonna see your brother, when we’re bright eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“You say the strangest things,” Hanzo comments, laying back on the bed as Jesse laughs beside him. He leaves enough room between them; if there was a couch, Hanzo would have slept there, leaving Jesse his space.

But Jesse doesn’t seem to mind, falling quickly asleep, with Hanzo following not far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically nothing happened this chapter, and im sorry - it's really hard for me to get from point a to point b, it seems. i know where the story is going, but it's taking me awhile to get there. lo siento, amigos.


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